


i seal the fault upon the skin

by the_prose_in_which_the_filth_dwells (the_one_in_which_the_filth_dwells)



Series: we're the last americans [1]
Category: American Murder Song - Various (Album)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Murder In General, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 15:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_in_which_the_filth_dwells/pseuds/the_prose_in_which_the_filth_dwells
Summary: Cain’s two companions were an odd sort from the beginning.





	i seal the fault upon the skin

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a series of short works I have planned. Because honestly, Storm and Tender are the best murder husbands.

Cain’s two companions were an odd sort from the beginning. Cain collected Mister Tender first, one bleak night around the beginning of the nineteenth century. He was alone except for the bodies, killed out of wrath and revenge. The Mark, invisible to all but Cain himself, was a fresh stain on his arm. The man who would become Mister Tender was just that —tender— as he thoughtfully stroked the cold cheek of one of the slain men. He was covered in blood, the knife he had used cast aside. Cain made his offer then. Undeath was a lonely thing after a while, and he could use some company. (The music would come later.)

The contract was sealed in blood, signed by Cain carving the Mark into his flesh and naming him Tender. Cain was not gentle and Tender screamed, but after he was finished he was sworn to Cain’s cause and not quite human anymore. The wound scabbed over, then scarred.

Cain and Mister Tender rode in the Black Wagon for a few years. Tender would idly pluck the strings of his guitar and watch the countryside pass by while Cain drove the horses. It was just as lonesome as it was before, but now at least they were lonely together.

* * *

 

The storm came with howling fury. Even the Nightmares were skittish as the sky roared and winds ravaged everything in their path. Cain did his best to keep them calm as they hunkered down to wait it out in the drab coastal town they had ended up in.

Tender, unfazed by the weather because of his new undead state, was wandering the town. It was completely by accident that he found the man who would come to be called Storm, as well as the woman he had strangled there in the mud in front of a shabby looking saloon. They were hard to spot in the darkness, just barely illuminated by the lamplight from inside the building. Tender slunk closer to get a good look, interest piqued.

There were identical gold bands on each of their ring fingers, but the man seemed far from mournful looming over the woman’s body. His curly hair was plastered to his scalp. He was shaking hard, and not just because of the cold rain. He looked manic and shell shocked and _free_ all at once as the Mark blossomed on his skin. Tender watched it coalesce from the shadows, fascinated. He had seen the process many times before (excepting the first time on his own skin, since he had been human then) but something about this man was novel.

When the thunder boomed next, the man threw back his head and screamed. It was a howl that came from years of pent up frustrations, and from the relief of finally eliminating them. Tender knew then that he would have him. He was what the Black Wagon had been missing.

With the tumultuous clamor of the storm, the man did not notice Tender’s approach until he caught sight of his muddy boots just to his left. The man gave a start like he had been burned, flinching away from Tender and staring up at him with wide eyes. He still didn’t look like he felt guilty. ( _Good.)_ Rather, he looked like a cornered beast. Tender knew he had but a moment before the man would be attacking him, for fear of witnesses. He stayed nonchalant regardless, hands in his coat pockets.

“I know where we can hide it,” Tender said, using the toe of his boot to nudge the corpse’s limp arm. The man looked taken aback at this. He offered no response.

Tender huffed and bent down, grabbing the body and slinging it over his shoulder. It was a manageable weight, especially now that he was undead. (To think, Cain was even stronger.) The man gawked at him before jerkily getting to his feet.

“Where?” He croaked to Tender, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Come with me. We’ll need to get shovels first.”

* * *

 

Thankfully, the stables Cain had broken into to shelter the Nightmares had enough empty stalls. He had stolen hay from the bales, giving each of them some to chew on, and was now brushing them down.

While they were identical to the casual onlooker, seeing how they were all black mares, Cain knew each of their faces. Nephthys, Hel, Bellona, and Inanna: each named after a fearsome goddess that corresponded to one of the horsemen of the apocalypse. Cain thought it was fairly clever. As the thunder rumbled, Nephthys stamped her hoof and whinnied nervously. Cain shushed her, stroking her nose.

Behind him, the door flew open. Cain glanced over his shoulder, startled to note that Tender had a man with him. A man with a Mark, no less. They were both soaked to the bone and covered in mud, clutching equally as muddy shovels.

“And who is this?” Cain asked, looking the Marked man up and down.

Tender had a moment of pause when he realized he had never asked the man his name.

“He’s one of us,” Tender blurted instead, curiously fervent.

“I can see that.”

“One of _us,_ ” Tender insisted, gesturing between himself and Cain.  

Ah. Cain realized where this was going. Tender wanted to bring him along.

“And do you want to come?” Cain asked him. He wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea— but it all seemed very sudden, and Tender was not an impulsive man. What did he see in this stranger?

“I...can’t stay here,” the man answered. His voice was raspy. “Mister Tender explained who you are. And what he is.” Remarkably, he didn’t seem perturbed. Cain nodded.

Tender spoke again. “We have room.” He was looking at Cain, clearly trying to convince him rather than reassure the other man. “He’ll fit in with us, I know it.”

This was probably the most impassioned he had ever seen Tender. Cain sighed and set down the brush he was holding.

“Tender, don’t make me regret this.”

His companion smiled, relieved. Had Cain ever seen that expression on his face before?

Then he turned to the stranger, drawing his knife from his belt. “Give me your arm.”

**Author's Note:**

> Nephthys = Death, Hel = Famine, Bellona = War, Inanna = Conquest. In case you were wondering. Cain loves his horses.


End file.
